


Simple Pleasures

by lesbianryuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Family Fluff, Female My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27068086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianryuko/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: Robin gets some much-needed rest.
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Lucina & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Marc | Morgan & My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 72





	Simple Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone!! this was written for the [scores of heroes zine](https://twitter.com/feostzine), for the awakening song "shh... easy now, girl. i won't hurt you" <3 this song always reminds me of those little moments of peace, so i thought i would write something around that. this was such a fun project to be a part of! i love chrobin a lot ..... Fambily....

_You need to rest,_ Chrom had told her when he found her pulling her third all-nighter in a row to brush up on her tactics. _Please. If not for yourself, then for us. Running yourself ragged won’t do anyone any good._

So, despite her mind’s painful insistence that she has to spend every waking moment preparing to face Grima, Robin has begrudgingly taken her husband’s advice and spent most of the day catching up on sleep. Her first impulse when she finally wakes up is to get back to work—to train, to study, to do _something_ —but all it takes for her to resist the urge is imagining the look on Chrom’s face when he finds her taking so little care of herself: the softness in his eyes, the creases of worry on his forehead. Her materials are scattered all over the tent, calling for her to peruse their contents for the thousandth time, so Robin forces herself to look away from them and heads outside where she isn’t surrounded by temptation.

Just on the outskirts of camp, the earth dips down into a meadow of summer wildflowers. Robin wanders over, admiring the vibrant green grass and the way the late afternoon sun has started to dip behind the nearby trees. The heat is almost oppressive underneath her dark, heavy coat, so she takes it off and lays it out on the ground like a picnic blanket, sighing in relief as the soft breeze hits the bare skin on her arms. Then she lies down on her coat and closes her eyes. The irony isn’t lost on her.

Only a few minutes pass before Robin hears a single pair of footsteps slowly growing louder as someone ambles toward her. The person stops and sits down next to her in the grass, their shadow darkening the view behind Robin’s eyelids.

“These were always some of my favorite flowers,” the person says—Lucina. Robin opens her eyes. Between her fingers, Lucina holds a freshly picked forget-me-not.

“I think that’s part of why I loved summer so much as a kid,” she continues, staring fondly at the little blue flower. “That’s when all my favorite flowers are in bloom.” She pulls a dandelion up from the ground. “I know they say dandelions are just weeds, but I’ve always really liked them, too.”

“They’re resilient,” Robin replies, folding her hands behind her head. “It’s like they can grow anywhere, from Ylisse to Plegia to Valm and beyond, in wide open fields or between cracks of rock. It’s admirable.”

Lucina chuckles and covers her mouth with her hand.

Robin raises an eyebrow. “What? Is something funny?”

Lucina shakes her head. “No, no. It’s just…you said the same thing to me when I was young.” She smiles warmly, and Robin’s heart swells, just a bit, at the thought that she was able to make her daughter beam like that, in this timeline or another.

For a few moments, they sit together in comfortable silence, Lucina gazing out over the field, Robin watching the clouds float by.

“Mother! Lucina! Look at this!”

Robin props herself up on her elbow as Morgan lopes down into the meadow, holding a long stick with a caterpillar hanging near the tip. Its body is leaf green, with a bunch of colorful knobs poking out of it and small black spikes growing out from each knob.

“His name’s Bartholomew. Isn’t he weird-looking?” Morgan says enthusiastically. “He’s harmless, though. I might try to keep him as a pet, at least until he finishes maturing. The moths these guys turn into are _huge_!”

Robin giggles as the caterpillar inches its fat little body toward the edge of the stick. “It’s so cute.”

Morgan lowers the stick until it’s just above Lucina. She opens her mouth to protest when the caterpillar drops directly on top of her head. Lucina scowls, and Morgan cackles. “He likes you!”

“He does not,” Lucina says.

Morgan picks up Bartholomew and places it back on the stick. “He likes his Auntie Lucie!” he crows as he prances away.

Lucina rolls her eyes. “Brothers,” she sighs, but she smiles again.

Robin lies back down on her coat and closes her eyes, listening to the rustle of grass as Lucina stands up and chases after Morgan. She can hear the faint hustle and bustle of camp, nearly hidden beneath the sounds of birds chirping and cicadas crying. For once, the war feels far away, like a dream whose details Robin forgets the moment she wakes up.

After about ten minutes of serenity, Robin hears someone walking toward her again, followed by a familiar laugh. “What is it with you and taking naps on the ground?”

“I’m not _napping_ , Chrom,” Robin says. “I’m just…resting my eyes.”

Chrom snorts and sits down next to her. “A likely story. Anyway, I came to tell you that dinner’s ready.”

Robin opens her eyes and sits up, pulling her knees to her chest. Right at the edge of the horizon, the setting sun paints the sky in brilliant hues of orange, yellow, and pink, and Robin shields her eyes against its brightness.

“You look much more rested,” Chrom says.

Robin nods. “You were right. I knew you were right. It just feels…wrong, to rest when there’s a war going on.”

“I know that feeling all too well,” Chrom says, “but if we don’t take proper care of ourselves, we can’t fight. It’s not wrong to indulge in moments of joy or respite amidst the chaos.”

Robin lets out a contented sigh and rests her head on his shoulder. He’s right. She has to believe that he’s right.

Robin is used to thinking about the future. She has no past to remember, and the present is too fragile—at least, that’s what she thought—but perhaps their fragility is what makes them beautiful, these fleeting moments of peace. Perhaps that’s what makes them valuable. Perhaps that’s what makes them worth fighting for.


End file.
